The Long Way Around 10 - Hidden Movement
Welp, so much for having a quicker turnaround on the next set of chapters, huh? Getting this next set of three together took some doing, mainly because I was struggling to figure out where this series was going. I think I've got a loose grip on it now, and that will have to be good enough.
Still not quite satisfied with this, but it gets the job done. Kind of regretting moving Anders and Mendez away from the moon base. Maybe if I ever do a rewrite/overhaul, I'll keep everything focused on Caedwyn and its moon.
All right, enough bellyaching and theorycrafting from me, time to Just Post, Dammit. We'll start off the week with this chapter, and hopefully new chapters for But Wait, There's More! and Eat Well, Live Free before the weekend.
---
Nightfall
Caedwyn Realm, Consolidated Frontier Territories
Blackbriar Forest, Outskirts
“When I agreed to this contract with Lady Cormyn, I did not have scut work like this in mind,” muttered Lord Daruth. He wore a scowl that had become all but permanent since the peer group’s arrival on Caedwyn, especially since their encounter with those suspicious monks and that execrable constable. His disquiet only grew with this latest quest. Expectant decorum demanded tasks commensurate with his standing. Tracking down wayward tradesmen and apprentice mages was clearly beneath him, no matter how important said peons were to his current patron. It was the sort of work he would have delegated to squires, were he at home.
Regrettably, they were far removed from any worthwhile measure of civilization, and thus were relegated to chasing down a supposed ‘prospecting expedition’ into heathen lands. Worse still, the compensation for their trouble was, in his estimation, dubious. It was only through the protracted whinging of his peers that he relented and accepted the contract from Lady Gladys Cormyn. The old crone was gutter-mouthed and insolent, even in the presence of her betters, making for truly execrable company. But, he could not deny that the so-called Hag of Splitskull was a capable head of house, ruling with an admirably firm hand that did not suffer fools gladly.
“The Lady Cormyn’s word carries considerable weight here, despite her mundane roots and coarse manners,” offered Lady Senathriss, their peer group’s elemental magus. The serpentkin elaborated, “And her Earth magus, Master Reddas, has generously offered to part with a few choice specimens from his stock of locally harvested mana crystals in exchange for recovering his missing apprentices.”
“How your esoteric pursuits will aid this peer group continues to elude me,” countered Daruth. The peer group was all too familiar with how fervently Senathriss could pursue greater magical prowess, sometimes to the group’s detriment.
“Come now, my esteemed colleague. Caedwynian mana crystals have been the talk of the Arcanists’ Society this season! Securing a cache of them will yield many dividends for our group, both material and political.”
“I will hold you to your grand promises, so see to it that your investment is worth all this bother,” rumbled Daruth. “But enough talk of potential payoffs. The more immediate concern are these ‘wildmen’ the Cormyn woman mentioned.”
The peer group’s designated healer, Elder Brantus, piped up. “I doubt they’d pose a serious threat. While visiting the local offices of the Healer’s Guild, I learned that the average mana field strength of the populace is rather middling.”
“All well and good, but my concern lies with the possibility that the savages have already waylaid the prospectors,” Daruth clarified. He continued, “The deep forests are apparently some holy ground of theirs, and they will no doubt protect it with heathen ferocity.”
“Oh, perhaps we will uncover some primitive artifacts!” said Senathriss with an academician’s enthusiasm. “A few curios from a quaint frontier realm is worth a favor or increase in standing, at least!”
“You can indulge your academic frippery once our task is seen to, not a moment before,” insisted Lord Daruth. He turned to look behind him, where the fourth member of the peer group, Lord Kern, lagged behind. The leonine man appeared to be scanning the horizon, one hand resting on the hilt of his gilded saber.
“Ho! Lord Kern! Tarry not, I would prefer to conduct our search while the light still favors us!”
Kern grunted noncommittally. An odd feeling had been gnawing at him since nightfall. It was the sensation of being fixed with an implacable gaze, the low panic that you were being watched, hunted even. His dueling master had schooled him well on sensing killing intent, like a spider feeling vibrations in its web. This sensation however, felt frustratingly lifeless, as if he were being stalked by a particularly heavy raincloud rather than an assassin.
He cast aside the thoughts with a derisive snort. Better to be done with this task than dwell on false intuitions. “Apologies, Lord Daruth, I will join you shortly!” He bounded away to catch up with his peer group as they crossed into the forest.
From a distance, glass eyes tracked their movement.
21:30
Greater United Nations Long Range Expeditionary Force
Survey Station Selene, Remote Operations Center
While the adventurers were being tracked by LREF drones, they were not the Remote Ops team’s surveillance target. The current shift was monitoring the Manatype 30 venting that had been taking place at the nearby Transportium station. At first, the Pathfinder teams assumed it was routine maintenance to safely release accumulated Manatype 30 from the Transportium. It was only after the first few ventings that they began to see a pattern.
After Manatype 30 was released into the atmosphere, it reacted with the ambient mana to form what the Nexians called ‘miasma,’ a transitory energy field that was corrosively toxic to mana-based lifeforms. Miasma would diffuse from the venting sites to the surrounding area, affecting the local ecosystems. In effect, the Nexians were performing wide-scale toxic waste dumping out in the wilds and boonies of Caedwyn.
“You’ve got eyes on that adventuring party, right? Are they gonna cross into the diffusion area?”
“They’re tracking that prospector team from Splitskull, that’s gonna take ‘em through the periphery.”
“Anyone else passing through?”
“Got a ranger patrol going after the prospectors too.”
“Shit, could be bad. How big is the diffusion area gonna be?”
“This is the projection for max diffusion, figure about 30 minutes. Also, there’s pockets of leftover miasma from the last vent floating around adding to the radius.”
“Christ, that fucked up bone monster we spotted last week is gonna be eating good. We got eyes on that thing too?”
“No visual, but the tracker’s still good.”
Just like mundane industrial waste, miasma caused a plethora of nasty effects on any flora and fauna that came into contact with it. Manatype 30 shredded any mana field it came into contact with, which was bad news all around, given that a lifeform’s natural mana field was the only thing preventing the ambient mana from literally melting them into protein goop. In extreme cases, anything that wasn’t outright liquefied by exposure to miasma was mutated into a monstrous form the Nexians called a Tainted creature.
The science team named the phenomenon ‘Manatype 30 Somatic Reconfiguration Syndrome,’ but the rank and file simply called it ‘monsterization.’ Caedwyn’s ecosystems had their fair share of lethal flora and fauna, but Tainted creatures took the extra mile, infusing their natural weapons with Manatype 30 radiation, and developing the ability to wield the deadly energy directly.
“All right, keep an eye on everyone. Just remember, if they do end up slamming into each other in a giant clusterfuck, we stay out of it. Unless you wanna get an extended vacation like Mendez and his crew.”
“I heard that this doubling down on the non-interference rule is just the start. Supposedly they’re gonna limit FTL traffic around Caedwyn? The hell’s that all about?”
“Apparently we’re stinking up the place with FTL smog.”
“Shut the fuck up, quit jerking me around,” came the incredulous reply.
“It’s true, man. Eggheads figured out that whenever a ship warps through manaspace, it leaves behind a trail of Manatype 30.”
“No shit? The same crap that’s getting vented from the portal stations?”
“Yep. Apparently that shit diffuses in vacuum, and if it passes by a gravity well, it gets sucked in.”
“So it just builds up in the atmosphere, or manasphere or whatever?”
“Just like I told you, it’s FTL smog. Cosmic pollution. Wild shit, man.”
“That’s fuckin’ crazy. So, what, are they gonna bump us down to monthly supply runs? Impulse traffic only zones like they have around Sol?”
“Dunno, haven’t heard any details yet. Whatever they go with, we’re gonna be left to fend for ourselves if any serious shit goes down.”
“Won’t be that bad, I think. If I remember right, bare-bones reqs are to have at least a squad of T-SEC heavies and a ship, for either self-defence or for getting the fuck outta Dodge.”
“Dunno how a bunch of power armored meatheads is gonna help if a MT30 zone forms around us, but it’s better than nothing, I guess…”
Nightfall
Caedwyn Realm, Consolidated Frontier Territories
Blackbriar Forest, Godsbarrow
“More digging tools here. Definitely prospectors from Splitskull,” muttered the Woodfolk ranger. Their patrol had already picked up signs of mischief earlier, and had been following the trail for a good while now.
“Hag’s been getting rather bold of late. Figures as much, what with everyone else around here losing their minds.”
“At least we don’t have to deal with the damned outrealmers. They’ve been running roughshod all over the plains, giving the herders and city-heads headaches to spare. Small blessing that they’ve shied away from the deep forest so far.”
“Expect that to change soon. I heard tell that the Hag’s been trying to rope the outrealmers into her schemes as well. Got her pet earth-shaper to dangle some trinkets in front of them.”
“Her greed for the stone-hearts will be the death of her, mark me well. The histories are hazy about what’s buried down in Godsbarrow, but the ancestors staked their lives on keeping it buried.”
“D’you believe the mutterings of late? How the souring land and air are a sign that whatever’s down there is working itself loose?”
“Bah, headsick fools! It’s clear as day it’s those damn elves and their Transportium to blame. Fuck’s sake, they’re belching literal plumes of poison into the skies!”
“Speaking of, the station here spewed again at sunset, so be wary of thick miasma.”
Having nothing else to say, the rangers continued with their work. The trail got markedly easier to follow from that point. Any attempt at stealth had been abandoned, furtive light-footed tracks giving way to long strides and deep footprints, peppered with more fallen equipment. Then they spotted the blood, after which they quickened their pace, quickly coming to the end of the trail.
“Well, this is a fine mess, to say the least.” The rangers scanned the bloody ruin surrounding them, presumably all that remained of the prospectors.
“I count eight packs and satchels in all. That ought to be the whole lot of ‘em, right?”
“Aye, a crew of six to eight is what they usually send out.”
“Got ‘em all in one go, even with an apprentice mage in the fight. Didn’t even get a chance to scatter. Only a handful of beasts can manage that.”
“Mind your step, something’s fouling the ground. Looks like…”
“Death ichor. Beast was Tainted, probably on account of all the miasma.”
“Damn it all, that’s even worse than the bloody prospectors. If Tainted beasts start scratching around the Godsbarrow–”
“In any case,” interrupted the marksman, “we have neither the magic nor steel for that kind of quarry. We need to quit our chase and return with sterner stuff.”
Just as they were about to make haste back to safe territory, an awful feeling hit all of them at once, like smoke clinging to clothes. An acrid, sour odor came after, making their nostrils flare. Whatever was approaching was dragging miasma with it. Shuffling noises came from the woods, in time with raspy sounds that parodied breathing. The rangers immediately readied themselves for a fight. “Thralls! They’ve been turned, the Dark Above take them!” cried out one ranger in surprise. That narrowed down the list of creatures responsible for killing the prospectors to a single culprit: a Thornwight.
Contrary to its name, a Thornwight was not related to plants at all. The thorny, briar-like protrusions that gave them their name were actually spurs and spikes of antler bone. The small and middling sized spurs grew from the wight itself, while the largest spikes were harvested from its victims and fused to its skull, like a grisly crown. This huge amount of mana reactive antler bone granted the Thornwight terrifyingly potent magic. Such beasts lacked the wit for complex spellwork, but a combination of low cunning and brute magical strength made it a frightening opponent all the same.
Those felled by a Thornwight rose as grisly poppets, such as the ones bearing down on them. In the shadows, they could have been mistaken for men, but the moonlight revealed the lie. Their heads were without antlers and hideously disfigured, a result of the Thornwight’s grisly harvest. The creature’s miasmatic touch turned flesh to a bloody mulch, from which it had torn out the men’s antlers by the roots. The foul things rushed at them, limbs jerking to and fro in ways that ripped and tore tendon and muscle, because the will animating them cared not for the limits of a mortal body. Lipless mouths babbled and hissed nonsense, echoes of the souls that used to inhabit the bodies.
“ForeMAN says DOUBLE shifts t’night!”
“Back’s been KILLIN’ me ALL week!”
“Heard TELL there were GAS in Tunnel FIVE!”
The rangers acted without hesitation, hurling lightseeds at the creatures. Each small missile was a lump of hardened resin, glowing a soft orange. That inner light exploded into a searing white flash before erupting with vivid orange flame. Essences of life and light streamed out from the magical flares in waves, cancelling out the dark pall of miasma that enveloped the Thornwight thralls. The window of opportunity to harm the creatures was fleeting, and fighting in close quarters was suicide. That forced the rangers to start letting loose arrows as fast as they could nock and aim. They burned through the scant amount of blessed arrows that they had, then had to resort to their boar spears to finish the job.
By the time the last thrall fell, the lightseed flames were faint, guttering for a moment before winking out. They had slain four, but spent all they had to do so. Retreat was the only option left, but even that proved to be out of their reach. Another voice rang out behind them. “By His Eternal Majesty’s grace, what havoc is this?”
A group of outrealmers barged onto the scene, subtle as the cock’s crow. The rangers winced visibly at the commotion they were raising. Now it was all but certain the Thornwight would be upon them. The tracker admonished them, for all the good it did. “Shut it, outlander! You’ll bring doom on us with that racket!”
The adventurers chose to reply by hurling small sacks at the rangers. The bundles came undone mid flight, unfurling into nets of sturdy silk that shimmered with enchantments. Each net found its mark, engulfing and restraining the unfortunate Woodfolk. Rather than parley with the now restrained rangers, the outlanders immediately turned their attention to the bodies.
“By the light, what butchery was wrought on these men? Their flesh looks like melted wax!” cried Brantus as he examined the bodies.
“Hm, violent excision of the antlers. Some sort of ritual disfigurement? How fascinating,” said Senathriss. She attempted to poke and prod at the bodies with one of her apparatus, but Brantus rebuked her.
“Stay your hands, Lady Senathriss, there is lingering miasmatic residue on the bodies!”
While the outworlders blathered at each other, the rangers attempted to get their attention, trying their best to warn them of the danger they were all in. “Quit your jabbering, you fools! The Thornwight will be glutted with power after a harvest like this, even more so if it’s been drinking up that bloody poison in the air!”
That only earned sneering contempt from the horned one. “What of this so-called Thornwight? I know nothing of your heathen customs and strange beasts! For all we know, the creature is a scapegoat you conjured to conceal your savagery!”
“We speak true, you headsick fool! It is a cursed thing born of Taint, and we court death with every moment you dally!”
“I have read something about this, Lord Daruth,” ventured Senathriss, ever quick with a rational explanation. “Superstitious blather about a creature of shadow that steals bones and performs lesser necromancy on its victims. I hypothesize it is merely a local variation of a jabberwock, or at worst a catoblepas.”
“Maybe there is a sliver of truth to their testimony. I cannot find the… missing antlers within the vicinity,” said Brantus, tamping down his squeamishness. “Could some creature have indeed made off with them?”
“There is nary a trace of Taint nor miasma on these men,” added Senathriss, examining the captive rangers with an odd viewing lens. “And certainly not the concentrations that would saturate the corpses of their victims.”
The ranger did not know whether to wail in frustration or howl with laughter. To think that his life would end this way. Snared and trussed up like a game hen, while these outworld bastards spout sermons and lectures in their high talk! He was about to holler at them again, for all the good it would do, but that familiar feeling of wrongness gripped him once more, growing stronger at a much quicker pace this time. Far too soon, he heard the wretched babbling of the thralls.
“Dull TOOLS make SLOW work! Keeeeep YOUR pick HONED!”
“Theee MISSUS has been giving ME GRIEF this WHOOOOLE week!”
“HEADlamps ought BE polished ONCE a fortnight!”
The outworlders looked toward the noise in confusion. “What in blazes is that bedlam? Are we to be beset by madmen at all turns?” wondered the Pronarthian aloud.
The thralls came out of the gloom full tilt, howling and flailing, but were fended off by a combination of short arms and simple magic. As the surprise of the attack wore off, the adventurers took full stock of their foes, and recoiled in horror at the thick miasma clinging to the thralls.
“Vile filth! To arms! Cleanse these abominations with flame and light!” commanded Daruth with his customary fervor. Brantus reacted swiftly, conjuring a white flame between his hands that emanated a combination of light and life-attuned energies, the standard counter to miasma. Meanwhile, his teammates sprang to action, this time bringing their spell and steel to bear with full force.
Daruth’s warhammer sent a thrall flying, while a searing ray cast by Senathriss speared through another. Spectral daggers of pure light mana struck all four in rapid succession, courtesy of Lord Kern. Every blow that the party inflicted stripped away the miasma that enveloped the thralls. The rangers were heartened that the adventurers were handling themselves well in the exchange, but the true test of their mettle had yet to join the battle.
Despite the healer’s warding spell, the growing pressure that felt like the air was thickening continued to ramp up. Wisps and curls of miasma continued to linger in the air, growing in number in time with the sound of rustling leaves. It sounded like what little wildlife remained in the area was taking flight all at once. Miasma continued to build, enough to rejuvenate the thralls. To their credit, the outrealmers did not falter and continued to fight back, driven by their leader’s zeal.
From the shadows between trees, a volley of black bolts shot out at the group, trailing black smoke. Being nobility, the adventurers were equipped with warded armor, layered with protections against blows and projectiles alike. But where a normal missile would have been turned away, the blackened shards of bone merely slowed as they burned through the protective enchantments. Shock registered on the adventurers faces as they hastily threw themselves out of the way.
Kern nimbly dodged the missiles, while Daruth blocked them with the sheer bulk of his pauldrons. Brantus was still maintaining the white flame, and any missile that flew close was burned to ash outright. Senathriss fared the worst, having dodged too late. She was struck in her arm, screaming as the miasmatic residue began to burn her flesh with terrifying vigor. Brantus cried out and turned his attention to the fallen mage, out of fear that the Taint would compromise her mana field if left unattended.
Unfortunately, his concern caused the area denial effect of the white flame to falter. Amidst the confusion and the adventurers’ attempt to rally and resume the fight, the source of the black bolts made itself known. The figure that walked into view had the shape of a Woodfolk, but far greater bulk, nearly a match for Lord Daruth. The most striking difference, however, were the many antlers protruding from its head, shoulders, and back. They were slate grey and shot through with veins of black, and thick miasma clung to them. That dreadful canopy gave the appearance of a hideous parody of a tree, a living blasphemy in the eyes of the Woodfolk.
It moved without urgency, and with good reason. The rangers and adventurers were in the Thornwight’s dominion now, and a lord seldom feared anything when in their own court. With a gesture, it released a wave of miasma, sending it forward like a rolling fog bank that blanketed the thralls. The servitors were rejuvenated on contact with the wave of negative energies, and were thrown into a frenzy. In an instant, they fell on the melee fighters, attacking with savage abandon.
Brantus, so focused on purging the miasma from Senathriss’ wound, did not notice the Thornwight turning its attention to him. It sent out another missile that struck the healer center mass. His armor’s wards blunted most of the blow, but it still struck true, delivering its caustic payload to wrack the healer with searing agony. To the side, the melee fighters attempted to fend off the frenzied thralls in close quarters combat. Unfortunately for the adventurers, deft swordplay fared poorly against a berserk opponent. The maddened creatures clung to and flailed at the adventurers, biting and tearing at them with teeth and jagged spurs of bone.
The rangers cursed in frustration. The outworlders had strong magic, but it was like a keen blade in a green warrior’s hands. The Thornwight was cunning enough to know just how to break them, and was going to make easy work of the group. Sometime during the confusion, one of the outrealmers had released them from the enchanted nets, but it was too little, too late. The rangers had spent all their lightseeds and blessed arrows, and mundane weaponry would do precious little against an empowered Thornwight.
21:35
Greater United Nations Long Range Expeditionary Force
Survey Station Selene, Remote Operations Center
“Nexian casters are down, and the bricks are starting to fold. They cut the locals loose but they’re out of flares and magic arrows.”
“God damn it,” growled the lead operator. “Prep mana hammers, we’re going loud.”
“About damn time! We’re on it!”
“Get all three fliers on that thing with clear lines of fire, we don’t want the locals catching strays.”
“Warning,” intoned the supervisory VI as it sprang to life. “This is an infraction of the revised non-interference policy. Please ensure that this incident fulfills criteria for–”
“Negative, this is a capture operation to secure a new research specimen,” countered the team lead, but the VI persisted.
“Warning, deployed drones with current loadout are insufficient to subdue the designated primary target. Furthermore, proof of scientific significance must be submitted with post–”
“Yeah, yeah, you let me worry about that, now shut it and let me command!” barked the team lead. Turning back to his console, he muttered, “Goddamn souped-up nannycam software, pain in my ass.”
“Trajectories locked in,” called out the lead drone operator. “Walkers in position, eyes on targets.”
“OK, pull in the ground units to keep the small fry distracted, then dive bomb the big ugly and hit ‘em with the hammers until that evil aura shit peels clean off. Keep engaging until the locals GTFO.”
“Roger that, executing now.”
Nightfall
Caedwyn Realm, Consolidated Frontier Territories
Blackbriar Forest, Godsbarrow
Lord Daruth was in the midst of an epiphany. The Pronarthian felt overcome by true clarity, and the great and terrible weight of it frightened him beyond measure. All the sermons on the corrupted nature of Taint, the lectures on the nature of miasmatic horrors, even his father’s firsthand accounts of the nightmare that was miasmatic corrosion, were nothing compared to feeling the actual thing. It was a deep, hateful burn that bit down to the bone. An agony so keen and focused that it occupied his full attention.
The Thornwight loomed over him, malice wedded to power, an existence driven to unmake and unravel the weave of life. In its vacant eyes lurked an undeniable nothingness. No malice, no greed, no purpose. A complete repudiation of any illusions he might have had about the universe having direction or meaning. In those twin voids, he saw the truth that at the root of it all was nothing. Entropy was the fate of all things, the inevitable dissolution of the lie that was permanence. With that revelation in mind, Daruth readied himself for the end.
But it was not to be.
A heartbeat passed, then pandemonium descended from above. Ghostly lights touched down, three blinding beacons that bathed the environs in blue-hued light. In the center of the triangle they formed stood the Thornwight, a black blot against the cold light. Another heartbeat, and a raging torrent of mana exploded from each of the gathered beings, forming a small tempest that stripped the protective pall of miasma from the Thornwight and made it falter.
As the strange manastorm raged, spindly limbed creatures rushed out of the dark with long, loping strides. The odd creatures pounced on the thralls and began pummeling them with wide swings that hit with the solid thud of iron mallets. The thralls thrashed mightily under their attackers but could not dislodge them. Even full contact with the lingering miasma that remained on the thralls did not make them flinch as they continued to tirelessly strike the thralls.
It quickly dawned on the rangers that this was their chance to flee. For one awful moment, they considered leaving the outrealmers behind. But one look at the adventurers’ agonized faces brought them to their senses. These people were no longer the haughty highborn who had treated them with scorn. They were just young fools, victims of their own hot blood, truly feeling Death’s jaws at their throats for possibly the first time in their lives.
It was these pangs of sympathy that spurred the men to action. They rushed into the fray to extract the fallen while they still had the chance. The adventurers were badly injured, still with dregs of Taint eating away at them, but they could at least manage a frantic retreat. The horned brute was the hardest to manage, seemingly in a deep stupor even as he got to his feet and limped away. Both groups spared the intervening aliens one last glance before fleeing in earnest.
21:40
Greater United Nations Long Range Expeditionary Force
Survey Station Selene, Remote Operations Center
“Locals and tourists are retreating, casualties sustained, no fatalities observed.”
“Secondary targets neutralized, primary target still active. It’s pulling in miasma to rebuild its aura, 30 seconds until it’s back up.”
“Walker drones at 50% capacity, severe damage sustained on all units. Aerial drones active, mana hammers at 30% and charging.”
For all intents and purposes, the fight was done. Both the locals and the tourists were hauling ass to the nearest safe haven, and the monster’s flunkies were down. On Remote Ops’ side, the walker drones were trashed, while the fliers were still up, albeit with their mana hammers still charging. With the civvies more or less safe, the Remote Ops team was willing to call it good and withdraw. Right now it was up to the monster, of all things, to decide if Round Two was going to happen or not.
Thankfully, the creature seemed to have reached the same conclusion, backing away slowly to melt back into the gloom of the heavily canopied deep forest. Back at the Remote Ops command center, everyone sighed in relief so hard that the team lead thought the room would depressurize. “Fucking hell. OK people, after action. What’s the damage?”
“Walker drones averaging at 45% integrity, onboard power at 20%, no major component losses detected. Aerial drones are all green.”
“Do a sweep for loose parts just in case. Don’t leave anything behind. Command is already going to cavity search me for pulling a Mendez, best not make things worse.”
“Roger that, initiating parts sweep. Bag the remains, too?”
“Yeah, standard decon protocol. Keep me updated on how the cleanup goes. I gotta get started on this report.”
The team lead tapped away on his datapad, bringing up the requisite forms and templates to document another non-interference infraction for the pile. Even though the regs had gotten tighter, it still felt like ‘Pulling a Mendez’ or ‘Doing an Anders’ had become routine for Station Selene. It was almost like those two jokers hadn’t even left.
It wasn’t going to stop any time soon, either. Ever since Pilot 2 had ‘phoned home’ from the Nexus itself, every research team was asking for even more intel and sample gathering missions. With the uptick in missions being flown, he was honestly more surprised that the incident count hadn’t gone right through the roof. Preferring not to think about what that would look like in practice, the specialist focused on his paperwork instead.
“Monster control with recon drones,” he muttered. “I guess there’s worse ways of handling First Contact.”